


Silver on High

by DevinePhoenix



Series: Forgotten Snippets from my Plot Farm [2]
Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crack Treated Seriously, Faked Suicide, Gen, Misunderstandings, Protectiveness, Queerplatonic Relationships, Secret Identity, Silver Clan? more like team run-away-from-all-our-responsibilities-and-problems, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:33:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28916907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevinePhoenix/pseuds/DevinePhoenix
Summary: Canon Divergence- Fushimi as a Silver clansmanFushimi happens to look in the mirror at just the right moment and see his father staring right back at him.Obviously from there the only answer is to fake his death and run off with the King most infamous for running from his problems.
Relationships: Fushimi Saruhiko & Isana Yashiro | Adolf K. Weismann
Series: Forgotten Snippets from my Plot Farm [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2147145
Comments: 1
Kudos: 40





	Silver on High

**Author's Note:**

> For someone who cannot spell the Gold King's name, he sure does pop up a lot in these K fics I write.
> 
> The second fic in my New Year's resolution of clearing my WIP document.
> 
> Inspired by that moment in one of the movies where Fushimi and Yata tried to Candle the Himmelreich and they wonder how their life would've changed if they got on board it. But also Fushimi catching himself slipping into his dad's behaviour patterns towards Misaki and deciding he really won't stand for it. Does he decide to change? No! He flat out decides to remove himself from the situation to solve the problem.
> 
> I don't hate Misaki, nor do I blame him for Fushimi's actions. If it comes out that way then whoops.
> 
> WARNING: Suicide mention but he wasn't actually suicidal, he just made everyone think he was.

Misaki had few regrets in his life. He was not a person prone to focusing on the past when the present was so fun, and the future was so bright. He did regret a few things though. He regretted how he left his family. The argument where he stormed out and never went back. His mother never deserved that.

He regretted his best friend’s suicide.

They told him that it was not his fault. There was no way anyone could’ve known how stressed and fractured Fushimi was. But all the same he can’t but help feeling like he drove him to it.

There wasn’t even a body for him to get closure. The only way they knew there was no foul play was the politely written note he had left behind. As practical as ever, Fushimi had neatly packed up all his things into boxes, cleaned out his apartment, paid off the rent for the rest of the month and left a damning letter on the doormat.

_…If I’m successful, my body will never be found…this way you can occasionally wonder what happened to me…keep me in your thoughts, Masaki?...Maybe I’ll just burn myself up with this red that you love so much…no blood, no bone, no ash left at all…_

They find a giant black scorch mark on the roof.

Even the Gold Clan got involved, as it was the first recorded instant of a clansman able to turn their powers on themselves. Usually such a thing would be impossible, the flames of Red were not able to hurt other clansmen, but Fushimi had found some way to turn it on himself in his self-loathing. They finished their investigation and note taking of the phenomenon, more concerned with the science rather than the fact that Misaki’s _best friend_ had died. Then they leave as quickly as they arrived. That’s the end of it, and it felt all too sudden.

It felt worse in that he didn’t remember the last time he had hung out alone with Fushimi or slept at their apartment. Little in his life changes with Fushimi’s departure and he’s horrified that it was so easy for him to disappear so utterly. It all feels like betrayal on his part, and he doesn’t quite know how to cope. HOMRA mourns with him, because despite his distance, Fushimi was still a red clansman. But Misaki knows that they are mourning the red clansman and not Fushimi himself. They are horrified over someone being burned up by the red flames they share and not that it was _Fushimi_. The chant of ‘ _No blood, No bone, No ash_ ’ tastes foul in his mouth for several long months.

Masaki never returns to their shared apartment and moves into the bar full time. It feels a bit like running away.

* * *

Fushimi could admit to himself that he wasn’t in the right place mentally. Even his pride and lack of self-awareness had to bend sometime after several lonely sleepless nights. He was tired and he hated everything and the one spark he had left in a world he hated barely gave him the time of day anymore. The day before, he caught himself teasing Misaki with that same dreaded drawl that followed him into his nightmares even now. He had sounded like his father and the realization horrified him. Looking back on the past week, he could see the truth of the habits he had been using to provoke Misaki into a response. When had he started to slick back the side of his hair? _When_?

The cycle was going to repeat once more. He had heard about it before, abused becoming abusers in turn, but had thought he’d be too smart for that. But without him even knowing, those habits had crept out from the grave with a subtlety he hadn’t even registered.

He didn’t want to become the monster of his childhood.

He…didn’t want to hurt Misaki like he had been hurt.

It was tempting. He couldn’t deny that the needling and teasing he copied had been effective in drawing Misaki’s attention back to him. He got to luxuriate under his full attention, no matter how snappy and angry it was. It was a slippery slope though and he remembered how his father had moved from teasing to poking and tearing him apart psychologically and then outright negligent malice.

The best thing he could think to do was to remove himself from the situation entirely. For all he didn’t want to hurt Misaki, it was far too tempting to continue needling him when he stood next to him, invisible. He had to leave the city, find some place far, far away for his poison to not infect Misaki. Find a dull little city or town with no clans or kings or Misaki for him to scrub out a tired existence.

It was a snap decision, staring in the mirror that evening but he was a logical kind of person and a plan came together in very little time.

He had to cut off pursuit at the start. Even if he was invisible and forgotten, he was still a red clansman and Misaki would still run after him on that title alone. It made him sick to even think about. He didn’t want any loose ends in this city. Running away was one thing but he needed to make sure there would be no pursuit. Faking his death would do quite nicely. It would be better for Fushimi Saruhiko to be a dead man.

He wrote a beautiful farewell letter. He tried to keep most of his baggage out of it, but he couldn’t help but leave one last dig at Misaki. He wondered if Misaki would think about him when he used his red. Would think, ‘these are the same flames that killed Fushimi’. He wondered if he’d just be quickly forgotten, brushed aside for a new red clansman.

(He wondered if poison he inherited from his father made it so that he could do nothing but cause people to hate him)

He packed away his life with strict meticulousness, he didn’t own much anyway. The only things he took were his hard drives, laptop, money, some clothes and his knife collection. He didn’t want to take too much and cause any suspicion. Removing the laptop alone was suspicious but he doubted anyone knew where he kept such things anyway. With everything neatly packed away and the door locked, he went up to the roof to stage a suicide. 

His power with the red sanctum had never been very strong, Misaki was always much more powerful than him in that respect. What he could do, was focus his little powers to one point on a bundle of fuel to coax out a conflagration on the roof. He burnt it as hot and as high as he dared without collapsing the roof. He probably should’ve waited for the morning, where the firelight wouldn’t be noticeable but the train to the middle of nowhere would be leaving in three hours in the predawn gloom.

“Oh? This is a pretty big candling.”

There had been no sound. The roof door was padlocked shut from the roof side for authenticity. He had planned to shimmy down to the fire escape to leave the building. The fire escape hadn’t rattled either. He had been so caught up in his bonfire, he hadn’t even realized that the shadow of the white airship had fallen over the roof. Fushimi whirled to face the voice, plan and mind in shambles. _There were supposed to be no witnesses!_

The man was tall and willowy, like a breeze could carry him away. And it took a puzzled second before he realized that the man really was so light that his feet didn’t touch the ground. If Misaki was here, there would’ve already been a cry of ‘Ghost!’ but Misaki was why he was up here so he tried not to think about it. He wasn’t stupid. With the white airship overhead and the fake candle he made with his pyre, this could only be the First and Silver King.

He was…younger than he expected, but it was only in the face, his eyes were silver and sad and _old_. His features were foreign, with long pale blond hair that was silver in the moonlight. He glowed from the top of his head down to his old-fashioned coattails with a faint ethereal silver.

It was those sad eyes, of a man trying to run away from his own demons that made him hold out his hand. Fushimi was surprised with even himself. But he remembered that evening, what felt like ages ago, when Misaki and him had chased down the White airship in the hopes of getting on. Fushimi wanted to run away, and who better to run away with than the literal King of running away from his responsibilities and problems.

“Please take me with you.”

The Silver King watched him for a moment, eyes serious and studying. Then that gaze drifted to the bonfire flickering behind him and the bag in his hand. The soft knowing gaze he looked at him with made him want to actually throw himself in the fire out of sheer embarrassment. Either way, with his focus lost, the flames flickered out to nothing, leaving the rooftop lit only with the Silver King’s moonlight aura.

Fushimi didn’t know what Weismann was looking for, but he must have found it, because he took his hand. What little red he had was already sputter to exhaustion with the blaze and he wondered if it would come back at all as the silver aura from the king bled into his own. It wasn’t full clansmanship but it was just enough silver to _fly_.

Weismann, pulls him up into the sky with a cheeky little grin. Fushimi doesn’t look at him yet though, he’s too distracted with the lights of the city below. The perspective was interesting but hurts too much to contemplate. He turns to look at the sky above, with all the glimmering stars and possibilities laid out before him. Something in Weismann’s eyes are smugly satisfied when Fushimi turns away from the ground.

The brief flight to the ship lightened something in his soul. He liked it. It felt free, like running away. He wanted to run, and Weismann wanted to run so there shouldn’t be much problem if they ran together?

He doesn’t swear to the Silver King immediately. For all they were different, at heart they were both skittish people afraid of trust and bonds. They fall into companionship like two wary stray cats circling. Fushimi’s red aura doesn’t return, and two months later, he becomes the first Silver Clansman.

Years later, Fushimi’s stupid, fluff-hearted king responded to another candling.

It was hardly the first one they had responded to since Fushimi was picked up. Nothing had been out of the ordinary except for the fact that they were in that hazy zone of waiting for the new Seventh and Coulourless King to declare themself. Even so they had expected it to be a normal candling.

They had responded to plenty before. Adolf could not bring himself to touch the ground again, frozen and still hurting, but he tried to help in the little ways he still could. His aspect of Eternity had damaged the man in ways they had not predicted. He had frozen at the point of his dear sister’s death and the collapse of a building on them. Despite all the time, the wound remained fresh as if she had just died and nothing they did could rid him of it.

He couldn’t be the First King the world needed but he could support the Second King with all his might. He directed his genius towards producing and developing new technology at a furious rate. Fushimi wouldn’t be surprised if he was looking at the creator of several modern technological breakthroughs.

Fushimi loved the ship and the labs and the technology and the constant production of new projects. He was never bored anymore, because there was always so much to do, to learn, to create. The ground beneath his feet was quickly forgotten in favour of this paradise in the sky.

Even with his scientific contributions, Weismann still tried helped the lone persons on the ground if they candled him. If anyone believed enough to candle the ship, he floated down to help in any way he could. Fushimi didn’t see the point, but he couldn’t say anything because he too was one of those lost souls.

The first few times, he tried to ignore it but paranoia itched at him. Maybe because he was used to the clans of the earth, always packed around their kings but the thought of his king floating down without someone to guard him gave him anxiety. The idiot was a pacifist to make things worse, if one of the candlers tried to mug him, he’d probably left them! Fushimi Saruhiko was still a dead man though, so he donned a mask like the Gold clan and remained a silent guard. It wasn’t a rabbit mask of course, but a silver fox mask, something they custom built.

Weismann had not chided him or tried to dissuade him from the ruse as they built it together. He of all people knew the value of running away. The thing was sleek and elegant and above all comfortable with a built-in comms system and visibility that didn’t block his sightlines.

Paired with a leather jacket with a fur collar for the wind chill of flying and a multitude of knives, Fushimi joined his king as a silent bodyguard. Sometimes he lurked just out of sight, sometimes he stood in plain view behind his king as a visible threat. He got scolded for scaring the candlers sometimes, but Weismann never told him to stop so he took it as blanket permission.

Now that he was no longer of the red clan of the ground, relations with the other clans had drastically changed. Stepped back from the situation, it was amazing how hostile the red clan was to the others. They had constantly been at odds with the Blues and even had the balls to ignore the golds sometimes.

But as a Silver, Fushimi was now above the clan politics. He was above the gold clan even, when they visited the tower for Weismann to visit his ‘lieutenant’, the rabbits treated him with careful respect. He couldn’t deny that the elevation didn’t make his vain heart preen.

As the first Silver clansman, he was under a lot of scrutiny. The Gold King pegged him at a glance of course, they had met briefly when Fushimi was still a red and despite the disguise the man just knew. It was probably down to the way he walked or the way his aura felt or something. Fushimi didn’t feel threatened by the reveal though he knew he should. The man was King of the earth, it would’ve been stranger if he couldn’t immediately see through him.

The Gold King didn’t approve of an ex-hooligan becoming his dear friend’s first clansman at first. Then Weismann had sat them down to play chess together. Kokujoji prodded, Fushimi sniped, they debated and at the end of it the Gold King grudgingly accepted that Fushimi was exactly the right kind of bastard to keep the flighty Weismann moderately on track. Probably never enough to keep the man on the ground, but enough to pull him a little bit more into the present with his scathing nagging. The boy was clever too. Enough to make him a threat if he ever broke from his second clan.

Kokujoji trusted Weismann with this one though. There was some unspoken understanding between the two, some bond that meant that the wild boy wouldn’t cut loose from this string as easily. He made contingencies of course, just in case. A Silver clansman gone rouge would be a serious danger, but it would be far more dangerous for the Silver King to have his heart and trust broken again. Kokujoji preferred to keep the kid happy so he would keep his lonely friend company. He couldn’t even wish he had stopped them meeting (At the kid’s suicide pyre he assumed) because the kid would’ve probably killed himself and Adolf would still be drifting. His visits after the kid joined him had him far more focused, far more present.

The change was a godsend for the Gold King who had watched his Silver King drift endlessly in the throes of grief for decades. He had loved Claudia too, still loved her to this day, but he had the gift of time to blunt the pain. Adolf was still trapped in that single moment by his own powers.

The rest of the gold clan knew to treat the silver masked fox that walked beside the silver king with the same respect they treated the silver king with. It broke none of their pride to bow to the sky clan, they were of the earth and policed all other clans of the ground. It made sense that they could not touch this clan of two of the air. It also helped that the man was not loud or rude or violent. He did not speak and only bowed his head politely in response. For more complicated answers he resorted to simple charades or sign language when he was met with the rabbit captain who knew it.

He was a mystery, much like his king, and was content to remain so.

In another life, the Silver King would remain alone until he was thrown down from his airship.

In this life, they come down to meet a regular candling and find Totsuka Tatara bleeding out from a gunshot on the roof and a silver haired teenager with a gun and a King’s aura waiting for them. In another life, lonely and detached, Adolf would have cited non-interference in clan matters and gone back to the airship with the coulourless king for the formal introduction.

In this life, Fushimi catches sight of his former clansman, a man he had begrudgingly liked, bleeding on the floor and doesn’t think. He drops down on the colourless king like a brick out of the sky.

If it wasn’t for the king’s aura, the man would’ve been missing a carteroid. Even so, the colourless king is still a king. A king can only be killed by another king or their own clansmen. Fushimi may be strong as a silver as he never was as a red but he was no king. He still made the bastard bleed.

The boy’s placid face twisted in maniacal glee and his aura started to build to bring down his kingly sanctum on Fushimi. Colourless kings never have the same power. The last one was strong in aura but his power itself was a noncombatant one of future sight. This one, with his mad grin and viciousness was much weaker in aura but was definitely acting like his power was a combative type. Fushimi braced for whatever would come smashing down on him and prayed he wouldn’t immediately be pulverized by the full force of a king.

At that moment Adolf K. Weismann dropped on the Colourless King like a sack of bricks.

The roof crumbled and the Silver pacifist king punted that boy all the way down to the ground level. Their Damocles swords manifested overhead as the sanctums clashed and Adolf went feral in a way Fushimi didn’t even know the placid bastard could.

He diverted his attention to the man bleeding out rather than the fight he was definitely underqualified for. Totsuka’s breathless questions were ignored as Fushimi yanked up his shirt to take a look at the wound. It was bad but thankfully it didn’t look like the bullet was still inside. It hadn’t hit the man’s spine either as a quick pinch to the leg and a responding ow confirmed. Silver Aura couldn’t heal, its main use was for flying but Fushimi was the First Silver clansman and he had just enough touch of the Silver’s _eternity_ to coax it out to halt the bleeding out of the wound. It wasn’t healed though, merely frozen in time for the moment.

The kings smashed through the neighbouring building and Fushimi frowned. The colourless king hadn’t had the breathing room to bring that terrible oily power to bear again, Fushimi didn’t know what the power was but he didn’t want it near his king. Weismann would be able to beat the junior king down easily. Even if the pacifist had little experience with fighting, his aura use was second to none in this world. The problem was that he could subdue the colourless king but he probably wouldn’t be able to kill them.

Fushimi would gladly do it once Weismann brought down the weasel’s aura enough. Aside from the attempted murder there was something seriously wrong with that guy. If Fushimi still couldn’t put his knife in his throat, then there were always other Kings to do the job.

That was a bit of a slippery slope, kings killing kings damaged themselves with the amount of aura they had to use to overwhelm the other. The killer would inevitably have to be killed within a few years as the chip cascaded to break their swords and cause a Damocles down. It was the reason why death fights between kings were to be avoided at all costs. It would cause a cascade of kings killing damaged kings and becoming cracked in turn until the last standing king’s sword fell with no one to stop it or one of the king’s clansmen stepped in.

Of course, with his invulnerability and absurdly high aura threshold, it was very likely that Weismann was the only King that could bring down another King without sustaining cracks to his sword. It was a shame that he was also the only one that would never actually go for a killing blow.

A king’s fight was not something that went unnoticed. Up on Misahashi tower in the distance, the Gold’s sanctum emerged out of pure fright at what looked like an attempted assassination of the Silver King by the Colourless King. Fushimi would give them ten minutes to reach with the king and a full squad with medics in the rear. Totsuka would need that medical attention.

The SCEPTER 4 headquarters, closer than the tower, lit up with their own blue sanctum in response. They had military speed and a King that could psudeo-fly, Fushimi expected the king in about five minutes with the rest of his clan at about nine.

Then, far closer than he expected, the red sanctum flared in a haze of _panicRageProtective!_ That explained the bloodied phone in Totsuka’s grip, he probably had called them and not been able to mention where he was. Forget the Blue King, the Red King would probably be there in three minutes flat and Fushimi had his clansman’s blood on his hands. It was not a good look, but he couldn’t exactly move.

Totsuka sighed under his hands, far more calm with the pain frozen. Even though he was technically the weakest clansman, Fushimi could feel him glowing warm under his hands as Mikoto’s sanctum entered range. The boost would keep him alive. Fushimi was almost vibrating in place with need to go support his king. Yata was the first up the stairs, coming up swinging and loud.

Fushimi only flinched slightly at the appearance of the boy who was once everything to him. It had been a few years but Misaki looked well.

…He didn’t have time for this though.

He wordlessly ushered over Kusanagi who was right behind Yata on the stairs. True to his information gathering ways, he only needed to look at Fushimi’s mask, glance at the white airship idling overhead and know who he was. He patted a hand on Misaki’s shoulder to calm him down and rushed past to kneel by Totsuka. He had to hand it to the man’s compartmentalization, he didn’t show any of the panic he was feeling at all.

Fushimi pointed to himself then the roaming, building demolishing fight going on between kings.

“Silver fox-san,” Kusanagi snapped. “That’s a King’s fight, we shouldn’t interfere.”

Fushimi pointed at Kusanagi then at Totsuka and then at the ambulance siren in the distance. Then he, more firmly this time, pointed at himself with his silver aura on his hand and pointed at the fight. He heaved up Totsuka, ignoring his groan, dumped him in Kusanagi’s startled hands and bolted, taking a leap off the building. Mikoto was coming in hot from his left, but Fushimi only had eyes for his king who was _punching_ a boy into the dirt. For a king, the boy was pretty fragile, it had barely been three minutes and he looked ready to die.

Battered as he was he still smirked at Fushimi’s approach, which was never a good sign. Then that oiled aura rose up and a white needle shot out of the boy’s eye. It was fast, way too fast. But he was of gravity and the air and he turned at a whiplash to dodge it.

It turned, with crazy eyes and a demented grin, diving for his eye.

A silver hand crushed it in its fist. Adolf K. Weisman stood over his only clansman visibly seething as he held the wriggling white form of the seventh king in his fist.

Now Weismann was a hypocrite, he wanted to help people but would not move if they were dying in front of him. This stemmed from his attempt to help people with the Dresden slate causing so much damage. In his mind, not helping was the better option for him. It was a kind of dull pacifism where he didn’t kill anyone…directly.

Despite himself, he still tried to help indirectly, by passing his technology to the Gold King who he could trust to distribute or withhold his inventions as necessary. He didn’t trust himself anymore to know if he was creating monstrosities or boons. He helped his candlers, but only ever indirectly with just his words and advice. Fushimi’s candling was the only time he had directly meddled in clan affairs, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret that, even if the boy eventually took his genius and all the technology he learned about at Weismann’s knee and tried to bring the world to its knees. He knew the boy would never, because they were the same. Responsibility and conflict was something to run from, for fear of what they would do.

Weismann was a fan of non-action to the point where he would blandly watch a man try to stab him to see the blade skate off his aura. They couldn’t hurt him anyway, so why bother defending. But that was with actions against himself. He was the invulnerable king so actions against himself could be easily forgiven as it would never do any damage.

Actions against his vulnerable clansman however…

He knew Fushimi was strong and wily and clever. If it was any other opponent other than a king, he wouldn’t be worried. If there would be one thing that could still make him act, it was his one clansman. If Fushimi wanted to gut an opposing king out of the blue (though in this case, it wasn’t out of the blue), then he’d trust in his reason and back him up. If an opposing King tried to crush his clansman, then he could only respond with violence in kind.

Kings liked to pretend to be civil and diplomatic with each other, but they were fiercely possessive over their people. And deep down, Weismann was the worst of them with only one clansman to focus on. All kinds of long-buried instincts were pinging in his head like Kill Bill sirens and they were all pointing to murder because How DARE That Other Try To Harm Theirs.

Mikoto was coming in with flames full of rage but Fushimi didn’t care about hows or whys, they had no hope to hold or interrogate a king. He drew his dagger and struck _up_ with all the aura he could muster. Weismann didn’t even look surprised or judging as the foxlike creature faded to nothing in his fist. The cracked and twisted sword high above their heads faded away with its king.

The newest colourless king hadn’t a chance in hell, not even chance for mercy. The previous king, Miwa Ichigen had made sure to tell them that his successor would go mad under his power. Mikoto swung but Weismann merely turned and punted him into the approaching blue king with a graceful kick. He might’ve dodged normally, but that was _too fucking close to his clansman so you can just back off_.

His clansman who was also burned dry of aura and sagging forward.

Ignoring all the ruckus starting up with the approaching squads and the ambulance, he hefted his half -conscious second up in his grip. It was probably for the best that he went to go calm down the lieutenant. If he ran off now, at their next meeting he’d get a planet thrown at his head. Daikaku did try to shoot him when he first became the Silver King and even though things have calmed down from then, the lieutenant often uses his invulnerability as an excuse to chuck cosmic forces that could kill anyone else at him when he does particularly stupid things.

**Author's Note:**

> Fushimi lost his red mainly because he burned it out and subconsciously didn’t want the connection anymore. So that big bonfire actually burned the red right outta him. So according to Weisman’s ‘non-interference with clans’ rules, he actually didn’t break it because by the time he met Fushimi on the rooftop, he was not red clan anymore. Mikoto on his part, didn’t register anything wrong with the red sanctum. I’m going with the theory that no, he can’t exactly control or sense the red after he gives it to people. Even if he could sense the status of all his clan members and their use of the red, he would’ve just felt Fushimi ‘burn out’ anyway. At first I wanted to just let Fushimi gut the 7th king for no reason but I figured nah, they need a solid reason to go for the kill immediately so ‘bam!’ they have a reason a-la-Ichigen. Shiro/Weismann was a very difficult write for me since he flops between wanting to help people and complete apathy when people die in front of him. Fushimi was also an odd one too. I didn’t like him at all in Season 1 because he was a creepy bastard but after season 2 with his spy, ride or die arc where he chose literal die, he grew on me. He’s not ‘Bastard (grudgingly impressed)’ because that’s munakata but he is ‘Bastard (fond)’ because he’s a tsundere little shit.
> 
> I know there’s always some sort of identity reveal in these kind of things, but I’m honestly not sure there would be. Fushimi’s main clan interaction as a Silver is with the Golds who wear masks themselves, so he’d never be forced to take it off. As a silver he doesn’t even run in the same circles as the reds so there’s little chance of him running into Misaki again after this incident unless we go into the operation against the greens later on. Even so, I’m not sure Fushimi would ever be forced to show his face unless a fight with a green goes sour. And If it was left up to him, he’d never reveal it himself. So there’s a chance Misaki would never know Fushimi was alive. It’s a little cruel of Fushimi but I kinda like the nice clean break that it gives. But lol you could always imagine for yourself what the confrontation would be like if he DID find out.


End file.
